Don’t look back with regret, look forward with hope.
Don’t look back with regret, look forward with hope.
To the year that was not.
We didn’t ask,
But that’s what we got!
We cancelled our classes,
Our sports and our clubs.
Churches and schools,
And even the pubs!
With sickness about,
There’s no shaking hands.
No hugging, so kissing,
No listening to bands!
One day’s like the next,
As the boredom sets in.
Those crazy odd videos,
Are not proof of a win!
I know in the future,
We’ll look back here with pride.
Despite fear and some angst,
It was one hell of a ride!
But now in this moment,
I am seriously bored.
The world’s in an uproar,
And I’m feeling ignored!
We are all in this state,
So I’m not alone.
But it feels like I am,
As I sit by the phone!
I swear I’m not crazy,
Although it seems like I am.
I can’t find a way,
To get out of this jam!
I started this poem,
With a wee bit of wit.
It seemed to be valid,
That I’ll admit!
But now it is over,
And I can’t seem to stop!
Help! I am spiralling.
I am over the top!
It’s Ok, I am fine,
Just a bit of a spell.
I guess this is the day,
When my sanity fell!
(Yes, I know I shared this in August but it was just too fitting to end off the year.)
The New Year may not fix everything but it is another chance to try.
I don’t know how this year will be remembered but I am looking forward to looking back.
Elsie looked around the room. There was carnage everywhere. A tornado passing through would have left less damage. Bodies were strewn throughout the mayhem. She chuckled. Just another Christmas morning with children.
One of the bodies stirred. A little fist came up from beneath the wrapping paper it had been curled up under. A pile of boxes sneezed. Another child was stirring. Elsie thought perhaps there were a few more to come. But she knew the fresh smell of coffee would probably wake all the adults up. Sure enough, the love of her life wandered into the room, his hands wrapped around a hot steamy mug. With no hesitation he handed it to Elsie and returned from whence he came to get another.
A few more adults showed up with coffee at hand and a tray of hot chocolate for the children. It was Christmas morning. It was after the frenzy of opening gifts. After breakfast. Everyone had been up so early for the main event that the naps became inevitable. The children slept curled around their newfound bounty while the adults found more comfortable settings. Elsie didn’t need a nap. She wanted to watch her charges. There is nothing more spiritual then the breath of sleeping children, safe and secure in their surroundings.
There was a different feeling in the room as everyone gathered once again. They all knew what was coming. Except for one. Malcolm was new to the group, to the family. He was still getting used to the Western dynamic. He had been born into soul crushing poverty in another country. His family had been killed in a local war that no one understood. He was alone. But he had been found by people who cared and so began his journey to this moment.
“Malcolm,” send Elsie, “There is one more Christmas gift for the family. That includes you. But you don’t know the history so I’m going to tell you how this all started.”
Malcolm set up straighter, he was interested to know how things worked here and he was curious about his new family. So, he listened very carefully.
Elsie continued: “When my Great, Great, Great Grandfather came to this country he was very poor. But his parents believed they could find a better life, a better future in the New World. They risked everything. The first few years were hard but they were a hard-working family. That first Christmas looked like it was going to be pretty bleak. There was barely enough money for food let alone presents. But there was a wise patriarch and he refused to be sad. He said the goose had wandered across the street and died. His beloved wife said nothing as she picked the buck shot out of the breast of their Christmas goose.
They said grace and gave thanks for their bounty. The light was dim and the curtains were thin but they knew that others were worse off so they gave thanks. And that’s when my ancestor brought out the Last Christmas Gift.”
Elsie sat back in her chair and smiled. She looked at the faces around her beaming with anticipation. She loved this part of Christmas.
“Ever since then we have honoured the tradition that was started so many years ago.”
As if by magic a small beautifully wrapped package appeared in her lap. There were many ooohs and aaaahs from her audience. And not just the children!
With studied patience Elsie peeled back the wrapping paper. And then with a flick of her wrist a small wooden carving appeared in the palm of her hand. It was a little drummer boy.
Elsie smiled. “Would anyone like to tell me what gift this is?”
Malcolm looked confused. He didn’t know the story of the Little Drummer Boy. And then something miraculous happened. A little tow-hair girl stood up and walked to Malcolm. She wrapped her little arms around him and said:
“His gift is to us all. He was a little drummer boy who had no presents to give the newborn King, Jesus Christ so he played his drum. He gave all he had in his heart and it was the most precious gift of all. That’s what we all need to do. And it will be precious.”
Appearances are not important if there is no substance beneath it.
Don’t go looking for coal in your stocking, Santa has forgiven you. It’s been a tough year.
Laugh a lot. It’s good exercise.
What will you find,
Underneath your tree?
Will there be presents,
For you and for me?
Will there be games,
Or a train set for you?
Did you speak to Santa.
So he knows what to do?
I wished and I prayed,
That Joy would be there.
The world would be fair.
The morning was bright,
The tree stood up tall.
And just below its branches,
Was Peace for us all!
We can all make a difference, if we try.
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Living life with a chronic illness is definitely not easy. But I do my best to push through all the barriers this illness puts in front of me! In my heart and mind, I believe maintaining a positive outlook on all situations in life will carry us through to much better times! I hope you find the information that I provide both helpful and inspirational!
A writer influenced by her Swedish heritage and Yorkshire upbringing
"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way that its animals are treated." (Ghandi)
Exploring the world in which I live, inside and out.
Simon's & Judy's Photography
Retired from the University of Texas and too old to play soccer anymore. Now, in the twilight of his years, time is spent writing in this blog, hiking and exploring Texas Parks, photography, working out, gardening and tending to the five ponds he built .
Rants, humor, sarcasm, and a haiku-like substance? It's hard to know what's going to come out of our minds next.
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